


something missin' in your smile (something missin' in your soul)

by Aria_Masterson1153



Series: Warpaint [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Couch Shenanigans, It's pretty entertaining, Jonny's a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, M/M, Pat is the Joker, Pat tries to flirt as the Joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: “How do I turn this horrible music off?” Jon said curtly.“Not a fan of Blondie? Hmm, I don’t know, something tells me you’re into blondes…” The Joker cackled as Jon flushed a deep red.“Enough of this. How. Do. I. Turn. It. Off?”“Struck a nerve, did I? I thought I would."(Pat is the Joker and Jon's an up-and-coming psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum that the Joker has taken a shining to.)





	

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Whoops.  
>   
> Attention new readers: **THIS IS PART OF A SERIES, AND WILL NOT BE UNDERSTAND IF THE FIRST TWO PARTS ARE NOT READ!** But, hey more Dr. Toews and Joker interactions for you to read! :))  
>   
>  Next part is nearly finished, so I'll try to have that up within the next few days! (Fingers crossed tho)  
> 

  
Jon was strolling down East 3rd street before his scheduled shift at Arkham Asylum when he caught a flash of the signature periwinkle blue of his Ikea sofa being lifted down from a moving truck. He jerked to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the annoyance to those following behind him. Through the disgruntled murmurs of those that were passing by him, he further inspected the couch, looking for- yep. There it was, the small violet stain on the middle cushion, caused by the always clumsy Broshie back during pre-med. Leave it to him to get trashed off of Smirnoff Ice.  
  
He was about to intercept the movers, holding his couch, thank you very much, when he realized the trajectory of the movers. They were lifting his couch towards Henrietta House, a popular destination in Gotham due to its unrivaled service as one of the most prominent women’s shelters.  
  
Huh, Jon thought. Definitely not the first place he expected to see his couch.  
  
Jon quickly walked in front of the movers, deciding he need to do something, not stand around with his finger up his nose, figuratively speaking. “Excuse me,” Jon started, and watched the mover closest to him slowly raise his head, his face an unbreakable mask of boredom. “How did you get a hold of this couch?” He questioned, with a strong attempt to keep the edge out of his tone.  
  
“Why buddy? You wanna donate something?” He questioned through a thick accent.  
  
“Uh…yes,” he said, never mind that he had already donated something, without his knowledge, but, semantics.  
  
“We have a warehouse up on Avenue A and East 7th St, you can drop off whatever you’d like there.” He glanced down at the couch in question. “This one was a weird one though, just somehow showed up in the warehouse, with no processing completed on it, just the request that it be sent here.”  
  
Jon took in that last bit of information in carefully. So Henrietta House meant something to the Joker, either in an attempt to help them out, or to destroy them. Speaking of:  
  
“So did you, y’know, check out the furniture for any potential risks? Cracks in the wood, or uh..bombs?” Jon mentally winced, taking in the shocked expression of the mover.  
  
“Uh no man, no bombs,” the mover nervously laughed, questioning Jon’s sanity, no doubt. “We do a sweep over each item to make sure that they are sturdy enough to last a while in these places. The people get into routine with them, so it would mess them up if they were to break pretty quickly…” The mover drawled out with an innocent shrug to his shoulders.  
  
“Right, of course. Thank you for your help.” Jon responded and hastily turned around, without hearing the mover’s response, and booked his ass to the nearest inconspicuous alleyway so he could spy on the events happening outside of Henrietta House.  
  
He watched the mainly uneventful movements of the couch being lifted into the front door, with some amusing moments of the movers trying to figure out which side to flip the couch on to get it through the door. He was only hiding to prevent the Joker from seeing him, if he was even here in the first place. But this was Jon’s first break in identifying the Joker, he had discovered a building that meant something to him, and he did not want to compromise this small advantage. For once, Jon felt like he was a millimetre ahead of the Joker, which was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.  
  
The movers disappeared in Henrietta House for a few minutes, and then re-emerged into Jon’s line of vision and drove away in their large van.  
  
Jon casually pulled out onto the sidewalk and made his way down to Henrietta House.  
  
He looked over the soft white and lilac colours in the sign, and noticed that it was a well maintained place, unlike some of the shelters across the city. He opened the door, and was immediately met with the sight of at least fifteen children gathered around a young woman with blonde hair, and a warm smile directed at the children. She was holding a children’s book open, presumably midway through reading them a story.  
  
She glanced up around the room, and met Jon’s eyes with a startled look. Then, just as quickly as it came, the look faded and another beaming smile. She looked back to the children, and then to another, older, woman off in the distance. “Cheryl, would you mind finishing the story for me? I think there’s someone here to see me,” and then simultaneously, the children twisted around to look at Jon with piqued curiosity in their eyes.  
  
As Cheryl reigned the children’s attention back in, Jon watched the woman slowly make her way over to him, weaving in between the bodies of the children.  
  
“Hello!” She said as he reached her hand out for a handshake, with Jon meeting her halfway. “What can I do for you?” The smile remained on her face as she said it, unperturbed by the stranger in her institution.  
  
“Uh, hi. I’m Jonathan Toews. I work as a psychiatrist.” Had he really just said that out loud? Man, he needed to get out more often.  
  
She probably thought the same, as her smile shifted into an amused grin, her lips pursing in an attempt to keep in her bubbling laughter.  
  
“Awesome! I’m Erica, and I run Henrietta House. Were you thinking of applying to work here?” She politely asked.  
  
“Oh no, I actually work at Arkham Asylum, uh, yeah, got that covered…” He awkwardly responded.  
  
“Well good for you Jonathan Toews,” she kindly responded, without an iota of sarcasm. “Um, well, is there anything I can do for you?”  
  
_Yes, do have any recollection of meeting the Joker? Or does anyone here seem like they would suit up in clown make-up to help the Joker out?_  
  
“Uh, yes actually. I was wondering if I could talk to you about this institution. I was thinking of transitioning into family psychiatry, and wanted to get a better feel for the environment.” He said, grasping at straws for another reason to scope out the institution that meant something to the Joker. “I’ve heard great things about this institution from my colleagues, and thought to start my search here.” He tacked on the compliment, in an attempt to sway Erica’s judgment.  
  
Erica flushed in pride. “Of course, I’d be honoured! Why don’t we step into my office, and we can speak in private?” She said as she ushered Jon away from the main room, and down the corridor.  
  
Erica opened an oak door to her office and gestured for Jon to sit across from her at her desk. The room, predictably, was pleasantly decorated, with plants hanging from her ceiling and unique knick-knacks lining her slightly messy desk.  
  
“So, where would you like to start Jon?” Erica asked, giving him an encouraging smile, already attuned to his social awkwardness.  
  
“Um, the name of this institution. Why ‘Henrietta House?’” He asked, the question that had been niggling in the back of his mind since he entered the institution.  
  
Erica laughed. “Fair enough, but be warned, it’s sort of a long story. Bear with me, ok?”  
  
“Funnily enough, my family and I lived here, at the then named Claudia House after a rough period in our lives. It was only mom, Jackie, Jess, Pat, and I. We were brought in and cared for unconditionally by Henrietta,” she paused and smiled. “Henrietta became essentially an adoptive mom to all of us, especially Pat. He took dad’s loss really hard.” She swallowed hard. “We took his passing even harder.” She painfully whispered.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” Jon sympathized. “Did his passing have a lot to do with you taking over for Henrietta?”  
  
“Yes, actually. After Pat’s death, everyone kind of went off in different directions,” she sighed as she swiped a hand across her forehead. “He was in the military you see, Henrietta inspired him to join. He was always so proud to fight for our country,” she whispered, distraught by the oncoming memories.  
  
She reached under the desk and brought up a photograph in a frame, showing it to Jon. “That’s us before his final deployment,” she said as she glanced at the photo.  
  
Jon couldn’t respond. He felt the shock begin to freeze a path through his veins, leaving his joints stiff and immobile. He could predict that his mouth was frozen in the shape of an ‘O.’ Because he’d seen that tan skin before, that perfectly straight smile, stretching across his face without the barrier of the scars. Those eyes, usually so clouded in mischief and chaos, clear as day, alight in happiness at the sisters who were hanging off his arms.  
  
**The Joker.**  
  
The weight of this discovery had not yet dawned on him, as he was too overcome with shock at seeing that face again, the face that he first saw when he met the Joker at that dinner party only a few weeks prior.  
  
He tore his eyes from the picture, and slowly brought his eyes up to Erica’s. How would he go about this, telling Erica that her brother was still alive, and that he was the masked clown terrorizing the streets of Gotham? How could he flip her entire world upside down, and interrupt her grieving process by adding even more grief?  
  
After a few moments of silence, with Jon attempting to process this onslaught of information, Erica spoke up. “You recognize him from the video, don’t you?” She asked Jon with a sigh.  
  
“Uh, I’m sorry?” Jon replied, confused by the insinuation.  
  
“From the news. Pat’s ransom video.” She responded in a distant tone. “Of course there’s still copies of it on the internet, I thought we finally deleted them all…” She muttered to herself in a despondent tone.  
  
Jon remained quiet, still glancing at the photo. Erica heaved a sigh, unable to make the effort to keep conversation going as she had been when they first met.  
  
“Listen, Jonathan,” she sighed. “It was really a pleasure talking to you today, and I wish you the greatest success in your transition to family psychiatry; but I’ve got to head back to work, I don’t want the kids to start lunch without me.” She said in a distracted tone, and Jon could understand her need to be alone.  
  
“Of course, my apologies for taking up so much of your time,” Jon politely replied, throat still tight from the shock.  
  
“Oh, not at all!” The radiant smile returned, though Jon could tell by her pinched eyes that it was forced. “It was truly a pleasure, Jon. Please get in contact if you need anything else.” Erica warmly responded as she handed him a contact card.  
  
He took the card and shook her hand with gratitude, making his way out of Henrietta House and back to Arkham Asylum.  
  


++++++++

Jon opened his office door with a huff, still operating on autopilot from the conversation with Erica. There were so many thoughts running through his head that it was difficult to focus on anything else. The main thought concerning Erica. Could he actually trust her information? True, she was very distraught, but how could she not recognize her brother’s profile on the front page of the Gotham Gazette?

Either way, Jon knew that he couldn’t reveal his leverage to the Joker yet. If what Erica said was true, then he had a major advantage on the Joker. And if not, well the Joker would be informed on the situation soon by Erica.

He would hold his advantage until the right time, when he had researched the Joker more.

With a roll of his tight shoulders, Jon dropped down into his office chair. He shifted the loose papers on his desk into a makeshift pile, and pulled out a crumpled noted from the stack.

_Dearest,_ 


  
  


_Who knew the serious psychiatrist had a social life? Since you’ve spoiled my surprise visit by neglecting your office for the past 4 hours, I’ve left you a phone that is bridged to my own. It is untraceable, so don’t bother with giving it to the police. Instead, press call and you will be directly connected to my phone._ 


  
  


_Talk to you soon, dearest!_ 


  
  


_(Seriously, call me now.)_ 


  


_**-J ******_ 


  
Jon shook his head in disbelief, and thinly veiled amusement. No way was he calling the Joker, did he have a death wish? He threw out the crumpled note, and glanced at the black brick of a phone. _Nope, not happening,_ he thought as he turned to his computer, turning it on.  
  
And was immediately met with the blaring tune of ‘Call me’ by Blondie.  
  
“Ugh, bastard!” Jon yelled in surprise, trying to turn his computer off, with no avail, the Joker must have hard-wired the computer to stay on. He turned to his notes, where neon-coloured ‘ _Call me now!_ ’ post-it’s were pasted.  
  
Blondie was beginning the second verse, when Jon’s willpower snapped. He snatched the outdated brick of a phone off of his desk, pressed call, as per the instructions, and waited for the asshole to answer.  
  
“Goodbye?” Was the first thing out of the Joker’s mouth.  
  
“Ugh,” Jon responded, accompanied with a complimentary eye roll.  
  
“Jonny dearest, you took your time, didn’t you? Who knows the amount of loved ones I could’ve killed in the meantime!” The Joker said with fake shock laced in his voice.  
  
“How do I turn this horrible music off?” Jon said curtly.  
  
“Not a fan of Blondie? Hmm, I don’t know, something tells me you’re into blondes…” The Joker cackled as Jon flushed a deep red.  
  
“Enough of this. How. Do. I. Turn. It. Off?”  
  
“Struck a nerve, did I? I thought I would. How far did I have to go in convincing you to call me?” The Joker questioned in an excited voice.  
  
“The computer, and the post-it notes.” Realization dawned on him: “don’t tell me there’s more,” Jon sighed as he scrubbed his hand over his face.  
  
“Oh no, there’s no more,” the Joker earnestly replied. “Just, uh, avoid using your washroom for a bit…” he trailed off.  
  
“Are you serious?” Jon groaned.  
  
“Now there’s a question.” The Joker predatorily murmured.  
  
Jon felt a chill explode down his spine, and didn’t realize how stiffly he was sitting. “Is there an answer then?”  
  
“Hm, there are answers, but are they the right ones?” The Joker hummed, lost in thought.  
  
Jon used all of his willpower to keep his newfound information buried within the confines of his mind, he knew that now was not the right time to bring up his proposed answer to these ‘questions.’ Instead, he took a note from the Joker’s book and changed the topic to deflect further temptations.  
  
“You know, my apartment is feeling a bit barren now, without my couch?” He grouchily muttered.  
  
He could hear a toned down version of his signature cackle. “Well you donated it to a good cause at least. I’ve been enjoying my naps quite a bit.”  
  
At which Jon realized two things. One, the Joker had not yet realized that Jon knew the couch’s fate, or that Jon knew who Erica was. And two, that the Joker hinted about the donation of the couch to Henrietta House. This angered him greatly, because he may have unknowingly received many hints from the Joker on his future plans, with them flying over Jon’s oblivious head.  
  
“I’m glad I could be of help,” he muttered in barely concealed anger.  
  
He could hear the piercing ring of the Joker’s cackle, and could hear static through the phone, most likely as a result of the Joker moving. “Speaking of helping your old pal, would you mind doing me a favor? I’m a bit stuck on something.”  
  
“Why? I’m not aiding you in any of your plans, Joker.” He argued.  
  
“Oh no, I’m just playing a little game of cards. Harmless, really,” he reasoned.  
  
“Which game?” Jon questioned, in an attempt to determine if the Joker was legitimately playing cards.  
  
“Just a quick game of blackjack with some new acquaintances,” the Joker responded with a light chuckle. “Now, I called you to get some advice, I’m up 20 points right now. Should I stand or hit?”  
  
“What does that even mean? And I’m at work right now, is this really that important?” Jon exasperatedly responded.  
  
“Oh it is, Jon. Very important. You could say, a matter of _life and death_.” The Joker added, a muffled sound coming through the register. “As I was saying, should I take another card, or should I sit at 20 points?” The Joker questioned with an amused voice, as if he were explaining the rules to a child.  
  
“Well, are aces high or low?”  
  
“Oh, that’s the beauty in blackjack you see, the ace can be both high or low, depending on the needs of the player.” He added, and Jon couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the way he stated that sentence sent chills down his spine.  
  
“So essentially, you need the ace to win the game?”  
  
“You could say that,” the Joker answered. “So, what say you, my darling psychiatrist? Hit or stand?”  
  
“Hit.”  
  
“Ah, now we’re talking,” the Joker replied in an excited voice.  
  
There was a pause, and then the Joker shouted in delight. “Jonny my boy! We won!”  
  
“What exactly did _we_ win?” Jon sarcastically demanded.  
  
“Oh, a lot of money. But we both know that means nothing to you or I. It’s all about sending a _message_.”  
  
“And what would that message be?” Jon probed, in attempt to better understand the Joker’s next move.  
  
“I haven’t thought of one yet. But I’m sure when a moment of inspiration hits, you’ll be the first to know!” Jon heard the smack of his lips, moistening his facial make-up. “But you, my ace of spades, just won me the game, so I do owe you a thank you. Don’t fret, your present is nearly ready, I’m just curling the ribbons on top.” He taunted, predictably with his Chelsea smile etched deep into his features.  
  
“No, I don’t want any pres-“  
  
“Do you know what spades stand for?” The Joker interrupted, completely cutting off Jon’s stern message.  
  
Jon heaved a sigh, “no, I don’t know what they stand for.”  
  
“Hm, now that’s no good. I’ll tell you about it one day, how about that?” The Joker questioned, with mock sincerity creeping into his chilling voice.  
  
“Sure, but please Joker, no presents. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.” Jon begged.  
  
“No, no Jon. You can’t just pick and choose whose presents you want to accept. Even if you don’t like them, people put a lot of effort into them. You can, and _will_ accept my present.” The Joker’s voice became low and venomous. And then it flipped on a dime to its cheerfully delirious tone. “But you will like this present…I think.”  
  
“Anyways,” the Joker continued, “I’m finishing up the last minute touches on your present, I’ll watch you later!” And with that disturbing send-off, Jon sank back into his office’s chair with a defeated sigh.  


**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, and let me know what you loved/didn't like/want to see more of, I do take it into consideration!  
>   
> Much love,  
>   
> -Aria  
> 


End file.
